


His Angel

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Catholic Imagery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: The angel’s hair is golden and his eyes are blue. The angel’s voice is firm but tender. The angel comes to him in his dreams. The angel promises to help him through the ordeals to come. The angel tells him that the Judgement Day is coming and that he is chosen to bring the Word of God to the people and to save as many souls as possible from the certain doom. Oswald trembles before him, Oswald is afraid to let him down. The angel touches his head gently. “It’s going to be fine,” he says.---A companion piece to "His Demon".





	His Angel

**Author's Note:**

> So... the idea has been in my mind ever since I wrote [His Demon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480722) but I thought it had to be more detailed until it just came to me in this way.  
I hope you like it :)

The angel’s hair is golden and his eyes are blue. The angel’s voice is firm but tender. The angel comes to him in his dreams. The angel promises to help him through the ordeals to come. The angel tells him that the Judgement Day is coming and that he is chosen to bring the Word of God to the people and to save as many souls as possible from certain doom. Oswald trembles before him, Oswald is afraid to let him down. The angel touches his head gently. “It’s going to be fine,” he says.

The angel talks to him about God, the angel talks to him about trials of souls, the angel guides him and helps him. He listens to the angel and repeats his words during his sermons. The parishioners listen to him closely, with each uttered word getting closer to Heaven. The Word of God is blissful to him.

The angel is with him in the confessional when Oswald listens to his parishioners. They confess such little petty sins, hardly even sins - lies, envy… impure thoughts… “He means jerking off,” the angel whispers in Oswald’s ear and Oswald has to muffle his laughter. Several parishioners confess being in love with people of the same gender and Oswald feels uneasy. He doesn’t consider this sinful, but what it he’s wrong and God really does object to such manifestations of love? “We do not punish for that,” the angel says. “Love is love,” he says, and Oswald repeats his words to the parishioner with relief.

Oswald himself is not immune to passions. He feels bitterly hurt when someone else advances before him, once again - he’s been working so hard, he’s been trying to make his parish better, so why wasn’t that him? He cannot ask that in his prayers, he knows that this is also an ordeal to overcome, but that doesn’t make it easier. The angel stands before him and takes Oswald’s joined palms into his own. “No human is without the seeds of evil,” he says. “It’s your decision to let them thrive or not.” Oswald bites his lip. Pride - wasn’t that what led to Lucifer’s downfall? And wasn’t it pride to think himself similar to an angel, even a fallen one? Oswald’s soul is in turmoil. The angel looks at him with those blue eyes of his and doesn’t let go of his hands.

Day after day it’s parishioners, confessions, sermons, prayers, services. The angel is always next to him, Oswald always feels his presence, his attentive gaze over his shoulder, and that makes him act even better, keep his back straighter, be more attentive and charitable. It’s hard. It gets harder with each day. Oswald prays vehemently for strength, but he doesn’t know whom he addresses these prayers to anymore.

The angel is with him in the confessional. The parishioner on the other side is silent, gathering his courage, and Oswald patiently waits for him to start talking. “He desires a man,” the angel says. “He wants to tell you that he thinks about his hands when he pleases himself. That he wants to kiss him, put his tongue in his mouth. That he wants to know the way he moans when he’s getting fucked hard.” And Oswald is aflame with embarrassment and arousal both, and he’s red to his ears. He barely listens to the confession and he gives some superficial advice, barely hearing himself, but the parishioner seems content with that.

Oswald sees the angel in his dreams. His hands touch Oswald’s skin, glide over it, naked, so naked, and make it warmer with their touch. The angel lays on top of him, covering him with his body, in every minute detail similar to a human male body, he presses him closer, he caresses him, he kisses him, muffling his prayers.

These visions follow Oswald when he’s awake. He can’t face the angel, can’t meet his eyes without remembering, without thinking of how those lips kissed him in his dreams. In reality the angel wears white clothes but Oswald remembers how his body looks without any clothes, how attractive and tempting it is.

The confessions’ time is over, but that parishioner was last again, and this time his passions and desires became even more detailed. The angel predicted them again and, standing in front of Oswald and looking deep into his eyes, he recited how he wanted to take his cock into his mouth, how he wanted to possess him, how he wanted to get claimed in turn and how he was burning with this passion more and more each day. “If you love him, my son,” Oswald says and his mouth is dry as he keeps his eyes locked with his angel’s, “if you really love him… there’s nothing shameful about wanting to explore the pleasures of the body with him. I cannot absolve your sins because you have no sin in you.” The parishioner thanks him ardently and leaves, but Oswald stays in the confessional, trying to calm his mad heart, and he keeps looking at the angel the whole time.

“You really think that?” the angel asks. Oswald nods. “Love is love,” he repeats, and the angel takes his rosary in his palm. He twists it around his fist, dragging Oswald closer, until he has difficulty breathing, and he never stops looking at him. “Love is love,” the angel repeats in turn and kisses him as Oswald parts his lips. The kiss is hot, not like anything Oswald could dream or hear of, it burns him whole, and he doesn’t have enough air, and Oswald moans, helplessly grabbing at his angel’s shoulders. It seems that he blacks out, falling into the abyss, and, when he comes to his senses again, he’s alone.

The angel doesn’t show up for several days. Neither in reality, nor in Oswald’s visions or dreams. Oswald’s soul yearns for him, Oswald wants to see him. His longing meshes with passionate fantasies. His prayers mesh with his longing. Oswald tightens his hold over his rosary and he twists it around his fist until it gets hard to breathe. The passion fills him, hungry for release, burning him up from inside.

Oswald is alone at the church, tidying up the altar after the service. His collar is tight around his neck, making his breaths shorter. His whole body is on fire, the fire is under his skin, in his heart, yearning to break out.

“Wonderful thing, this altar of yours,” he hears his angel’s voice behind his shoulder. “Just the right height to push you onto it and fuck you real hard.”

Oswald turns. The angel is right in front of him, in a white suit, and if Oswald didn’t know him to be Heaven’s messenger, he’d think he was a regular human, albeit a very handsome one. Oswald’s heart sings in his presence and he, unknowingly, presses closer to him. “Do it,” Oswald whispers into his angel’s ear.

The altar’s marble is cold under his back, and Oswald is completely naked save for the rosary around his neck. The angel bends over him, caressing him, kissing him, opening him up with his fingers, and Oswald whimpers as he rocks his hips to meet them. His cock is almost throbbing and the angel squeezes its base. “Don’t rush,” he whispers. He takes out his fingers and Oswald feels a strange hungry void inside until the angel starts pushing his cock inside. The air leaves Oswald’s lungs in a moan, he wants to become one with his angel, and when the angel is fully in at last Oswald can’t hold back. He arches closer to him, begging for a kiss. The angel answers him with heat, his tongue sliding over Oswald’s lips and pushing past them, his hips moving back to push forward again, and Oswald’s body is responding to that wonderfully. He wraps his legs around the angel’s waist, bringing him closer, making him push inside deeper, and he moans and he moans as the angel twists the rosary again, strangling him, and Oswald comes, spattering the altar with his sperm as he feels his angel coming inside him. They lie atop the altar, panting heavily, becoming one.

Day after day it’s parishioners, confessions, sermons, prayers, services. Oswald smiles as he fixes the collar around his neck tighter. His angel is always next to him, Oswald always feels his presence, his attentive gaze over his shoulder.

His left one.


End file.
